DadCentric

DadCentric Review: The 2009 Ford Flex Limited

DISCLAIMER: The folks at the Ford Motor Company lent me a Ford Flex for a period of three days. The car was a standard model given out to reviewers and thus did not come with a nondescript aluminum briefcase stuffed with $5,000 in unmarked, non-sequential bills. The opinions - key word! OPINIONS! - here are the author's own and do not necessarily represent the views of DadCentric. Although they kind of do, since the author owns the site. Also, that picture to the left is of the Wagon Queen Family Truckster, which, face it, is the first thing you thought of when you first laid eyes on the Ford Flex.

A few weeks ago, the nice people from the Ford Motor Company dropped off a shiny new 2009 Ford Flex in my driveway. As part of a massive campaign targeting High Profile Bloggers, I would be driving the thing around, to see if it was worthy of a coveted DadCentric endorsement. 

A couple of things about me and cars: I am not a Car Person. I know very little about how they work, and terms like "oversteer" and "limited slip differential" are lost on me. I generally think sports cars are for guys who are trying to compensate for lack of hair/penile size; that said, I do own a 2006 Audi A4 2.0T Quattro (which is a "sports sedan", meaning that with some axle grease and a massive shoehorn you can barely fit two kids and their carseats in back). I prefer functionality over flash, which is why my other car is a 2002 Nissan Xterra - it hauls kids, dog, and surfboards with ease. Finally, minivans suck - they are a shining example of the fact that nearly all parenting products are created with only one half of the parenting equation - Mom - in mind. For that reason alone I refuse to buy one. (Example: the sliding doors. This is a Mom Thing. Moms think they're amazingly helpful, because it makes it easy to get the kids in the car, especially in the tight confines of packed school/mall parking lots. Dads think that the Duke boys did just fine going through the General Lee's windows and our kids should be able to do the same. The only van any self-respecting dad should want is this one.)

Which brings me to the Ford Flex. The Flex looks like a Mini Cooper that had accidentally driven into Bruce Banner's Gamma Ray Chamber, gotten zapped with the Hulkafying Gamma Rays, and then got pissed off when the people at the McDonald's drive-through forgot to supersize its McRib Value Meal. (Photo comparison: Mini. Flex. White roofs kick ass.) It's a beast of a car, with room for six people and their dog, or at least two 6 to 9 foot long surfboards (I eyeballed this - I don't think the good people at Ford would have wanted their Flex returned smelling of surf wax.) I suspected that the Flex might be the Holy Grail of Dadmobiles - a family car designed with BOTH parents in mind; functional, and not a complete embarrassment to drive. To test this hypothesis, Beth and I put the Flex through a grueling series of road tests.

DadCentric Review: Namco Bandai's "We Ski and Snowboard" for Wii

Recently we purchased a Wii. We did so after hours of debate - should we get a game system, which one has the most titles, which one is cheapest, which one would be best for the kid, which one is the most fun to play when the kids are asleep and we're drunk, etc. The Wii was the logical choice, and one fine day Beth came home with one tucked under her arm - she'd found the last remaining console at some video game store at the mall, and snatched up with the vigor of a golden ticket hunter who'd spied the 7-11's  last Wonka bar. Then began the long process of trying out games to see which ones Lucas would enjoy (important) and be able to actually play (equally so - he's five, and still working on the whole hand-eye thing). I received a copy of Namco Bandai's "We Ski and Snowboard" for review, and on the whole, I - we - like it.

Walking Wings: Turn Your Baby Into a Plough Horse

He was standing up on his own, and had even tried taking a few tentative steps here and there. No doubt inspired by the bipedal antics of his big bro, the baby of the family clearly wanted to be up on his own two legs. He could get along pretty well holding on to my fingertips. Then I remembered a certain baby-related device that we had stowed away in the closet. Ladies and gentleman, the Walking Wings:

I haven't the slightest idea where we got this thing. No way in hell would we have bought it, even in the throes of new parenthood excitement brought on by the arrival of our first son. I'm guessing it was probably a regift. Or even a re-regift. Who knows how many times this thing's been passed around. Like your mom.

I felt a little silly strapping my boy into the wings, but it seemed a shame not to at least give 'em a chance. Who knew, perhaps I would be proven wrong. Perhaps it would be the finest baby product ever to hit the shelves of your local retailer. Perhaps I could write a glowing review for Dadcentric and get us some of that sweet sweet endorsement cash. See according to the Walking Wings website, the Walking Wings walking experience is supposed to look something like this:

Yes, with the bird and everything. Nice, right? Except our experience went more like this:

 

As you can see, it started off okay, but quickly descended into "Yah mule!"

The Walking Wings have now been shoved back up onto the closet shelf, waiting to be passed on. My son is walking now, but I don't think the wings had anything to do with that.

So how about any of you folks? Any luck with these silly things?

Of Minivans and Men

The garage door track could have shaken loose from the ceiling again. Let's punch in the remote code two, neigh, three more times to be sure.

Whrrrrrr -- CHUNK. Whrr -- CHUNK-CHUNK.

No. I had left the minivan tailgate open while it was inside the closed garage. Now the arm extending from the roller chain to the door was welded into the gate. Frickity frick on a frickin' stick!

It was the first true damage done to the Honda Odyssey since we purchased it on Memorial Day weekend 2006. A VFW Hall fills with laughter at the thought.

This shouldn't have upset me. After all, when My Love first broached minivan-ness in 2003, I applied some classic guy defense logic:

"I'm not driving that big frickin' tub 50 miles up and down the tollway into downtown to work every day. You're minivan ga-ga because every baby-totin' couple we meet on vacation had one. You want it so bad, dump that crappy Ford Explorer that bounces over every ant it hits in the road and drive it yourself!"

This surprised even me. Not because I'm above giving the wife an undeserved tongue-lashing because, shamefully, I'm not. It's because -- shhh -- I'm a car pansy.

I know how to drive one. I maintain proper tire inflation, oil changes schedules and fluid levels. Having experienced it three times now, I can also instantly deduce the reason we have suddenly lost power while do 70 on the highway is because the timing belt has snapped.

Aaaaaaand that's all I got. As I told my 6-year-old son once, wearing the knees out of your pants from playing with Hot Wheels does not translate into a working knowledge of real automobiles when you are older. Hell, I never even aspired to drive a monster truck. Not once.

My minivan opposition, I now conclude, was solely because of the symbolic crumbling of the last bit of manly façade I had left ... outside of the three-day stubble, beer-induced love handles and overcompensating size of my CD collection, natch.

Then Mark explained it all to me. Mark is the male half of one of the baby-toters. He's known for annually jumping off the second-floor balcony of the rental and into the pool. He also managed to father one child born in January and another in December. Of the same year. His wife and her naughty bits still haven't forgiven him.

I confessed my fear to Mark. My old Accord was nearing 200,000 miles and some recent steering issues, while giving the kids a thrill ride far more enjoyable than the last rollercoaster I suckered them onto, gave me some concerns.

"Dude, nothing is more manly than the minivan," he said, as he gave me the tour of his Odyssey. "It's huge. Look at the room, especially when you fold down the seats. What's says 'man'  more than having all this room to haul stuff!"

He showed me the navigation system. The moonroof. The rear-seat entertainment system for the kids. The factory installed satellite radio. We talked four-wheel ABS, variable valve timing, multi-point fuel injection, power-slide doors.

Dang. I had a woody … and I was taking it to Surf City where there are two girls for every guy. Yeeeaaah.

(Later I learned Mark failed to disclose that his wife was the prime driver of the mini. He has a convertible.)

So here it is, two years later, and I'm looking at the God-awful gouge I had just created in the tailgate.

This is a pretty good car. Crappy going up the slightest incline in the faintest dusting of snow, but overall a pretty good car. Keeps the Things entertained in their car seats for hours with Radio Disney or the 67^th viewing of "School of Rock" blaring in the wireless headphones. Holds the dog crate so you can insert the big yellow dog within, then place bags of edibles (chips, panties, you know) safely next to said dog. It's also great to transport your drunken buddies to and from major sporting events.

I fingered the jagged metal edge that I had created through my absent-mindedness.

I cursed my stupidity.

I swore at some unseen deity.

I cranked the AC/DC and started working on a real good cover story for later.

Sturgeon's Law As It Applies to Product Reviews

Being a recognized leader in the dadblogging world (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, my side.) I get lots and lots of nice emails from nice marketing/PR types asking me to take a look at their clients' stuff. Example:

Dear JASON,

We here at Queso Fundido PR are huge fans of your blog, DADS-CENTRIC, and we know that your readers will definitely love the newest release from Miramax, Sassy Gals, starring Sarah Jessica Parker, Meg Ryan, Jennifer Lopez, Sandra Bullock, and Dame Judi Dench. Sassy Gals tells the story of Jessie Swallows (Meg Ryan), a clothing designer who seems to have it all – a beautiful country home, a rich husband who works at one of those agencies housed in a giant loft where everyone has Macs and glass-walled offices, an adorable 11-year-old daughter and a part-time career as a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for Thirtysomething Trophy Wives magazine. Her best friend, Hope Schtupper (Jennifer Lopez), leads another enviable life – a happily single director of Oscar-winning documentaries, a possessor of a huge closet of shoes and a gal who never has to wait behind the velvet rope, at least not in Cleveland. But when Jessie’s husband enters into an affair with Crystal Meffe (Dame Judi Dench, in the role of a lifetime), a sultry ‘napkin girl’ lurking behind the Saks Fifth Avenue 3rd floor Ladies' Lounge door, all hell breaks loose. Jessie and Hope’s relationship is pushed to the breaking point while their tight-knit circle of friends, including ubermommy Sandra "Sandy" Sands (Sandra Bullock) and author Jennifer Prettyman (Daniel Day-Lewis, in a role that will certainly garner him an Oscar nod), all start to question their own friendships and romantic relationships as well. Laughter, tears, and montages of the Sassy Gals trying on big hats ensue. Please feel free to post the attached JPEG of the film's one-sheet on your blog.

So, no, we don't review every pitch we get. Because Theodore Sturgeon is right. But every so often, stuff will strike me as worthy of a dad's interest. Here are two noteworthy things that I recently received:

The Schick Quattro Titanium Trimmer. This is a nifty gadget. It's a razor with a small, battry-operated clipper on the end. As a proud member of Team Soul Patch, the clipper is the perfect size for me. Beth's happy because now I now longer have to use her lady's model clipper, the one she uses for, ah, personal grooming, to trim my 'patch. Isn't that nice?

Surfwise. Surfwise is an excellent documentary, now playing in select theaters. I received an advance review copy several weeks ago, but like the lazy slackass I am just now got around to telling you about, likely costing the studio millions in ticket sales. Sorry, Magnolia Pictures. Anyway, Surfwise tells the fascinating tale of the Paskowitz family, led by legendary surfer Dorian "Doc" Paskowitz. Paskowitz led what many of us who ride waves consider a dream life; he raised his family (eight boys and one girl, along with his wife Juliette) in a 24-foot camper, roaming the west coast in search of waves and a freedom that 9-to-5'ers would never know. Of course, things got complicated, and the film plays out like The Endless Summer meets The Mosquito Coast. It's a fascinating look at a very unusual family, and definitely worth your time, even if you're a non-surfer.

So there's a couple of good things for you. And for all of you PR/marketing types reading this site, take note: it's called DADCentric for a reason. I'm talking to you, Team Massengill.

Freak on a leash

Have we talked about baby leashes here?  Or is baby harness the more PC term?  I tried scouring our archives of 1,236,964 posts (Whit, can you please slow down just a bit?) and started to get blurry-eyed around 700.  So, in short, if we have discussed this here, I apologize for being redundant.

I have never been a big fan of them.  I've thought they were silly.  Some people think they're inhumane, though I'm not willing to go that far.  I just think that a toddler is a little too young for that lifestyle.  Um, anyway.  Like I said, I've never really been keen on attaching a harness to my child.  That being said, I can say that I might actually be able to see the wisdom in their use.

The Dubyas have been doing some traveling as of late - Florida, California, Pennsylvania - and there have been airports and wide-open spaces.  Little Dub, being the two-year-old he is, has been exhibiting some stroller aversion at times.  I'm not sure what his problem is: sit in the seat shaded from the sun, sippy-cup in hand while someone else pushes you around, sounds like a good deal to me, as do naps, but that's a post for another day.  Ok, back to the aversion.  When he starts to get feisty, I usually take him out and carry him for a bit or he'll walk while holding my hand, however, both are only short-term solutions at best - he gets heavy after a while or there's something shiny that catches his eye and his little hand slips my grip and then it's like trying to catch a squirrel.  I know it's all about shedding the confines of the stroller and experiencing the world around him, but while he's running and looking at things on the ground, he's causing people to look like they're doing tire drills or their best Heisman impression.  Amusing, yes, but still a tad disruptive.  It is during those times I see the wisdom.

As I mentioned, I haven't entirely come around to the idea of actually using one.  That being said, I have noticed how varied they are in style.  The Road Warrior-version aside, there's the standard nylon type (though I'm not sure if "restraint straps" in the description is a great marketing ploy - sort of conjures up images of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest) to the harness/backpack, cute and cuddly style - it does bring new meaning to "monkey on your back."  If I were to get behind one, it would be the latter, but I'm still not sold.  How about you, fans of DadCentric?  Freedom to safely run about or an early intro to BDSM?

Summertime In The Sanctuary

It's Summertime, gentlemen, and with the blazing heat (residents of the gray mass known as San Francisco excluded) comes the skimpy swimsuits, hot bods and other such eye candy - not that we're looking or anything, of course.  We're just aware, wives.

Anyway, while surfing the net yesterday - OK...it was PerezHilton - I came across something that really put Summer in perspective...if you're a Quaker.  It's swimwear for the modest and wholesome.  Finally, there's something practical and sexy frumpy for those who feel a little leg is a little much.  God knows [literally] that knee caps and shoulders are the gateway body parts to unabashed promiscuity, so, cover that stuff up, sisters in Christ, lest ye tempt thy males.

I'm not going to lie.  This isn't something I haven't seen before.  I vividly remember church youth retreats to the skating rink where the poor ladies had to rock the rink in culottes as hymns blasted through the stereophonic sound system.  Talk about a cock-block!  Even a 13 year old with a nuclear libido like I had has a difficult time making something sexy out of a cute chick with bloody knees limping off the rink after a rambunctious couple of orbits to "Bringing In The Sheaves".  Culottes = Not Sexy.  Always.  Mission accomplished, I guess.

I'm all for modesty, if you so choose, ladies.  And I understand if some of you have issues with your body (theocratic or otherwise), but, seriously...let's not resort to a Spandex undergarment with a potato sack top, OK?  There's a big difference between a day at the beach and a day of beach-adjacent fellowship with your Brothers and Sisters.  Please don't confuse the two.

The Highway's Jammed with Broken Heroes, On a Last Chance Power Drive...and Thanks to The Optional 3rd Row Seats, there's Room For Grandma and Grandpa!

There is, of course, a baby on the way, and we're now deep in the process of examining every aspect of our lives and trying to figure out what things we need to trade in for a bigger model. Naturally, tops on my list are a 50 inch plasma TV and a longboard; Beth is of the mind that we need a bigger family car.

I have to say that The Forthcoming Bundle of Joy # 2 Experience has been much less stressful than our first go-round. At least for me; I'm feeling a bit like Tom Sizemore in Saving Private Ryan; I've been there, in The Shit - literally and figuratively - and when November rolls around, I'll be ready. Once more unto the breach, etc. But the car thing has me vexed.

First, we have a fairly big SUV - the Nissan Xterra. It's been great; its undisputable value as a surfmobile notwithstanding, there's plenty of room for one kid, one dog, and all of the attendant crap that accompanies both. Those of you with babies will be happy to know that the attendant crap decreases expontentially with each month following the one year mark (really, one has to wonder how many parents go for #2 simply because they spent $800 on that goddamn Bugaboo and by Christ there's gonna be a baby in that thing until the axles rot and the wheels fall off). The problem is this - the Xterra, which still looks and runs great, is creeping up on 90,000 miles. The clock is ticking.

Second, we've both decided that there will be no minivan. No offense to minivan people - but we are not minivan people. We've tried to want one, we know they get better gas mileage and have the sliding doors and seat 30 people and can go underwater and can turn into giant robots, but we are not minivan people. We are SUV people. Surfboards and tents. (Ok - that's all me. You could probably talk Beth into a Nissan Quest, what with the cool multiple sunroofs.) That said, after much deliberation, we decided to give serious consideration to a pair of so-called CUV's - "crossover utility vehicles", namely the GMC Acadia and the Saturn Outlook. They seemed like a happy compromise - lots of interior space, folding third-row seats, better gas mileage than a full-sized SUV, car-like handling. What's not to love? Oh. The price. A quick glance at the MSRP, a go-round with the GMC Payment Calculator, and I came to the decision that I'd rather deal with a prolapsed rectum than those monthly payments. 

So the vexation continues. If there's a bigger pain in the ass than the process of buying a new car, I've yet to experience it. I may have to reassess my stance on minivans; the rocket launchers, though, are a dealbreaker. I'd be remiss in my fatherly duties if the family ride was vulnerable to attacks by giant radioactive scorpions. 

The Official DadCentric Guide To What To Get Dad For Dad's Day That I Actually Wrote For A Site For Moms

I don't pay much attention to Father's Day - I'm an Arbor Day man myself - but Charlene Prince Birkeland asked me to send along some suggestions on what to get the dad who has everything but still wants more, greedy bastard. You'll be the first against the wall when the revolution comes, capitalist running dog lackey dad who has everything. Vive la guerra! Anyways. This is what I came up with.

Rounding out the top ten: a jet-powered hang glider, a submarine, a lifetime supply of Triscuits, a couple of hours with Alan Thicke, the original master reels of the Beach Boys' "Smile" (and people laughed at me when I said I was sending my sidekick Kato, a ninja schooled in the ancient art of hypnosis, to pay Brian Wilson a visit. Bidding starts at $320,000; email me if you want in), and a pony.

DadCentric Official Seal of Approval

I had about 6 different posts in my head, but the week got away from me. And after tonight's visit to the Accountant, where we learned how much we're going to be sending to Uncle Sam on  - I should say, starting on, as it's really quite a lot - April 15, I feel a bit like a male model in a Robert Mapplethorpe photo. So to offset that, here's some shouts-out to some cool stuff you should be aware of.

The Dangerous Book for Boys, by Conn and Hal Iggulden. The Igguldens have assembled everything a boy ought to know - how to build a periscope, the secrets of Navajo code-talking, how to hunt and cook a rabbit, the laws of rugby(!), the basics of English grammar, the history of artillery, the Seven Ancient (and Modern) Wonders of the World, how to play poker and chess, seven poems every boy should know (no Vogon offerings, unfortunately), and a chapter on girls ("Avoid being vulgar. Excitable bouts of windbreaking will not endear you to a girl."). The book's an absolute delight, a reminder that the world's still a big and exciting place.

Friday Night Lights, Wednesdays at 8:00, NBC. Simply, the best show on, well, TV that you don't have to pay for. Calling it a show about football is like calling Moby-Dick a book about a pissed off whale. Tremendous writing, even when things veer into Clicheland, and truly three-dimensional characters who never fail to surprise and move you. Tonight's season finale may be the series finale - although there are some positive indicators that it will be picked up. Do yourselves a favor and watch the reruns and put the DVD's in your Netflix cue - hell, BUY the set, and if you don't like I'll refund your money. If you don't believe me, believe Scott Tobias. Oh, and the band that does the theme music...

Explosions In The Sky; their latest, All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone, is fantastic. If you haven't heard these guys, check them out at their website.

Also, a PSA: if you're a blogger, and are planning on being in L.A. on May 19, LA Daddy's throwin' a kegger. If you go, make sure you raise a glass for Kurt.